


taboo

by somnambulism



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous Relationships, Canon Het Relationship, F/M, Gen, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-09 23:11:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4367915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somnambulism/pseuds/somnambulism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To the rest of the world, they were dating. With each other, they never spoke of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	taboo

Temari knew Konoha through Shikamaru's eyes, by the best places to nap or stare at the clouds or eat (lunch. BBQ. Chouji.) non-romantic meals. If she made friends, from work or otherwise, chances were he knew them first. When he introduced her to the important people of his life, she bit back criticism. Their faces were categorized as Gaara's something or other, Kankurou's healer, Shikamaru's teammates or friends or friends of friends.

But his stories dwelled on ghosts of his father and his sensei. Here she usually said nothing, sparing him a rare show of sympathy, spurred by her own curiosity of what fathers ought to be. Other days, she cut him short prematurely. On the record to keep him level-headed rather than the emotional wreck of a shinobi he continued to be, but also to herself distant instead of envious, to keep her own feelings in check. 

Every other topic was free game. The trivialities of paperwork, the weather no matter how obvious, future exam plans, strategic advice, to even watercooler gossip which they both despised.

To the rest of the world, they were dating. With each other, they never spoke of it. As a topic, "they" remained taboo. It loomed over them, between them, around them like thickening tar in the air and acknowledging it would risk breathing in and suffocating.

"You should come to Suna sometime." She never talked about her hometown's politics with him after hours. But she criticized the blandness of Konoha's food and she bragged about cloud-free desert sunsets and she laughed at Konoha's meager view of sky and she never mentioned her father. Unless he saw for himself, he would only ever know Suna by way of Temari, and only ever in relation to Konoha. Not as a village of its own, not like how she felt of it. (Displaced. A plant potted and repotted from one village to another. Still foreign. Always. And proud of it.)

"Maybe."

She expected his answer. _Maybe_. (See, this is why they don't talk about a them. They know the answer to that, too. Worse than that, they know the question.) Maybe one day when he didn't have to check in on Asuma's child, or pay respects to fallen shinobi. Maybe one day, if his mission assignment called for it. Maybe one day when he had the courage to visit Suna and dare himself not to love her home the way she so loved him, his. 

An excuse after another, she imagined. But that was fair. Perhaps. After all, no matter how many roots she grew into his home it would never be hers. Her business and her heart resided in Konoha, but Suna had her blood. Her people. 

From there, the couple-not-couple deftly fell into another conversation, this time complaints about the minutiae of their morning routine. They would have the talk another day. Today was too absolute. And even unsaid they knew: they loved each other too much to ask yet

about duty  
about fealty  
about country  
about futures (together).

They loved each together too much to confront the other about "together" and "what is home, where is home", to even broach the idea of making the other choose. There could be no choice. Status quo: "they" were nothing. Not dating.

Temari walked beside him, hand just close enough to hold his but not, and this was enough.


End file.
